The Busker
by JibberingThoughtsOfFle
Summary: Ficlet from a prompt on Tumblr: "Sherlock plays his Violin on the streets of London for money, post-Reichenbach. Then John walks by". One mild swearword.


**I literally wrote this in ten minutes, it's not fantastic, I'm sorry! The prompt was from shappeyhappy on Tumblr. Enjoy!  
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Sherlock was bored. Molly was at the hospital. She was working – how tedious. It had only been 3 weeks. He was grateful for everything Molly had done for him, she really was doing all she possibly could to help him, but there was nothing for Sherlock to DO in her small flat.

He missed his violin, and he missed his skull. He wished he could sneak back into 221B and get them. But John would notice. He missed John more than anything. Molly found Sherlock infuriating to live with, just as John had, but she held her tongue and said nothing. John was a fighter; he wouldn't let Sherlock get away with it. Sherlock would often ignore him, but it was strangely nice to have someone argue with him and criticise his imperfections as well as praise his talents.

That's it! He couldn't sit here moping about his past life all day; he had to do SOMETHING! He rummaged through Molly's cupboards; he'd tidy up the mess later… maybe. It wasn't until he looked under the bed in the spare bedroom that he found anything. And what he did find sent a thrill of pleasure down his spine. It was a violin case. He opened it up to find a beautiful old violin sitting in a velvet lining. All of its strings were attached and Sherlock could tell it had been played in the last year, as they were only slightly out of tune. Molly never told him that she could play. She may of course had been learning to play to impress him, or was shy about letting on that she already knew how, given that he was _probably _better than her.

None of that mattered now though. Sherlock quickly tuned up the stings and tightened the bow, applying plenty of resin. He began to play a quick tune before an idea struck him. Molly had begun complaining about how much more she was spending now that Sherlock was living with her, even though he barely ate or wasted electricity on the TV etc, and Sherlock did feel slightly guilty about that. He looked out of the window, it was a reasonably nice day and there were lots of people pottering around London. He was going to go and earn a bit of money.

It had been years since Sherlock had busked properly. He'd never needed to really, but he'd always enjoyed it. He set down the case on a street without any other competition and began to play.

He lost himself in the music. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the notes course though his fingers and into the think London air. The various smells of different shops and stalls tickled at his nose and the sounds of traffic and people danced into his ears. He changed the tempo and the volume of his tunes to match the changing atmosphere of London as the afternoon drew on. He didn't care whether people were giving him change or not, the few times he opened his eyes he caught people staring and listening to his playing, clearly enjoying and admiring it. That's all that mattered to Sherlock. People appreciated his skill and that was all he wanted and needed.

He'd stuck to tunes that everyone knew well. There were some classical composers as well as some popular and nostalgic songs. As the sky began to darken however Sherlock didn't think as he changed the song. It seemed to fit the suddenly quiet London falling under a pink and blue sky. Before he knew it he was playing Irene's theme. A man walking past him suddenly dropped his bag of shopping, spilling milk and fruit all over the pavement. Sherlock stopped playing and scowled at the back of the man's head, the milk had almost gone on Molly's case. Instead of bending down to pick them up the man turned around.

Sherlock found himself suddenly standing face to face with a sunken eyed and impossibly thin Dr. John Watson.

"Sherlock?"

"John."

The Doctor stared at him in disbelief. "You're alive." He was shaking.

"Yes." Sherlock could see the anger building up in John, and he knew what was coming as John repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fist. "Look, this isn't my violin, it's Molly's and it's quite valuable, so do you mind if I put it back in the case before you punch me?"

"Molly's! Molly knows you're alive?"

Oh Shit! "Err…"

"Hurry up and put that violin down. And after this you have a HELL of a lot of explaining to do!"

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**Review? Pleaaaasssse *Puppy dog eyes* (I know the ending probably could have been better) Fle xx**


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